


WH40k - Rusty Gear

by Varthol



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 13:37:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17705255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varthol/pseuds/Varthol





	WH40k - Rusty Gear

_Uncategorized Remembremancer Entries, Section: XMMMCCCLXXIII._

__Sub-section: CCCLXXI. Entry No XLII._ _

 

“This is the place, sir” the boy said, as it pointed to one of the many wooden doors of the building.

 

Jackson knelt over and observed the door. He approached at a breath’s distance and sniffed. He then scratched minute amounts of rot off the wood and tasted it with the tip of his tongue. “How long ago did you say he left for the Lathes? More than a decade I’d reckon, from the taste.” Jackson told the boy.

 

“Um… I’m not sure, mister. My mom said he was a friend of my father’s… but that was before I was born; I think at least” the boy replied.

 

Jackson turned his head to the boy. “Well you don’t pass for younger than 10. No real face on your chin though. I’d make you for 13.”

 

“I’m 12. Going to turn 13 in” the boy stopped and counted with his fingers “7 months.”

 

“Heh, knew it.” Jackson smirked, pointed his stained finger to the boy and shook it up and down. “You do this pest removal business long as I have, you can tell time and infestation levels just from the filth you get in scents and tastes.”

 

“I see. Well, this is it, so I guess I’ll leave.” The boy removed his palm from his pocket and rubbed his thigh.

 

Jackson shifted his chin around. “Yeah, I see.” He rose to his feet and went through the inner pocket of his coat. He produced half a gelt and threw it to the boy, who caught it with both hands and promptly bit it.

 

“Just make sure nobody of the priestly type sees you with it. I’d suggest you give it to your father to weld” Jackson instructed the boy.

 

“Sure thing, thanks, bye mister!” the boy shouted, as it had already began to hurry away with its half gelt.

 

Jackson exhaled and spat at the concrete. He flicked off bits of rot from his nail with his thumb, then proceeded to produce a case of cigarettes, placing one between his lips. He then produced a small box of matches and lit his cigarette.

 

As his cigarette was burning away, he counted the welds and patches on his gears. “…please not the stuck-up type…” he murmured, which caused him to drop his half-burned cigarette. He made a grimace, then stomped on the cigarette, crushing and grinding it on the concrete. He coughed up twice, cleared his throat, spat on the ground and knocked on the door strongly with his fist.

 

Immediately, Jackson could hear clicking sounds and heavy steps from inside coming towards the doorway. Half a minute later, the lock clicked open and the door squeaked as it started to rotate from the inside. A small cloud of dust shifted in the doorway. As the dust settled, Jackson perceived a silhouette covered by a large robe, painted one half black and another half red, pulling the door open and watching him. The mouth and nose of the robe-dressed person were covered with some sort of respirator, the tubes of which disappeared into his hood and collar. The only facial detail Jackson could make out were the person’s discolored gray eyes, through one of which he could detect a minuscule red-tinted wavering flash.

 

Jackson waited for a moment, as was customary to let the host have the first word. But as no word came from the person inside, only heavy breathing. Jackson then caught a slightly offensive smell, like a blend of rotten eggs yolks and cleaning fluids. As he inhaled this scent, he felt a grimace begin to form on his face. Wishing to avoid any hints of rudeness, Jackson quickly spoke, before the grimace could manifest itself. “Greetings and good afternoon, respected sir. My name is-”

 

“Are you … the pest … controller?” the man interrupted Jackson, breathing heavily and buzzing between his words.

 

“Straight to the chase, huh? Yeah, your neighbor told me you needed the place gassed?” Jackson replied.

 

“Yes … indeed” the man exhaled, opening the door fully and pointed indoors. “Come in … then.”

 

Jackson walked in, every step he took riling a bit of the dust on the floor. The tech-wright’s place appeared to be a single room, except for a small corridor on the end of which Jackson could barely make out a toilet. The tech-wright’s desk was a large metallic one; from the lack of rust on it, Jackson reckoned it was recently forged and welded together. An assortment of tools and parts, some mundane and some bizarre, along with unrecognizable arcane prints and some candles, were scattered onto it.

 

The tech-wright closed the door. The room went dark for a moment, only needle thin rays of light piercing the cracks of the wooden door, until the man lit a couple of candles.

 

Jackson caught the chemical scent again now, but as he was facing away from the tech-wright, he let himself built up its grimace. “So, name’s Jackson, good sir. What’d be yours?”

 

The man exhaled. “Its … CDXX-MCCCXXXVII” he replied.

 

Jackson turned around, his eyes a bit wide, seeing the man leaning on his steel staff. “That’s a pretty high number and long name. I don’t think most folk, even us that can count, would remember that.”

 

“No-one … found it … difficult … in the Lathes … On the … contrary”

 

“You know, I heard you had the nickname “the Rat” back in your young days…” Jackson told him, as he moved by the sink to inspect it.

 

Jackson hear a crude clicking sound. “Call me not … by that name … I wish it … no longer … thus … I forbid it” the tech-wright replied.

 

“Forbid?” Jackson could tell he had hit some nerve, but he knew better than to infuriate a client who would pay him on the spot. “Yes, of course. Forgive my brashness. How about your proper name then.”

 

“...Eli…” the tech-wright replied.

 

“Ah, that will stick in memory just nicely.” Jackson cursed himself for not asking the man’s name from the boy or his mother. “If only I had known” he thought to himself. “So, have you witnessed the pests in question?” he asked Eli. “Mice? Germbles? Ants?”

 

“Diminutive, insectoid … roach-like … vermin. Carrion … feeders … I believe. My father … lived here … alone. When the … neighbors … found his body … due to the smell … they carried it … away. But these vermin … I believe … had already nested … in the mattress. I threw it … and burned it … but can still … see them … sometimes.” the man narrated.

 

Jackson picked up one of the lit candles and flashed behind the desk. “Did they ever bite you?”

 

“Negative … the gas … byproducts … of my bodily … functions … probably … deter them”.

 

“Sounds like some sewer offshoot attracted by the smell. My best guess is a female still breeds them through the waste that goes down the toilet piping. I’ll drop strong insecticidal crumbs down the toilet and sink, then gas the place just to be sure none of them slipped out. I estimate it’ll be a half an hour, then another half-hour till the insecticidal products settle. One more hour and the pests will probably be long melted on the inside.”

 

Eli nodded. “A satisfactory … outcome. What of … the cost?”

 

Jackson looked at the ceiling and counted with his finger. “Liquefying crumbles, gas…” he continued to mumble to himself for a few seconds, then replied “Around 12 gelt. Give or take one.”

 

“Reasonable … I shall depart … and return two hours … later.” Eli started collecting some of his things, placing them in a backpack. He picked the bag up, along with a long wooden case and hang them both over his back.

 

“Lots of baggage you’re taking for just a stroll, isn’t it?” Jackson remarked.

 

“Leaving it … unattended … would be … irresponsible” Eli replied, as he headed for the door. He opened it, letting the light inside one more time, before he closed it from outside.

 

Jackson sighed. He went through his bag, found his gas mask and wore it. “Maybe I should check beneath his bed too, before I go over the toilet” he thought. Jackson looked around. “Where is the bed though…?”

 

*** *** ***

 

Eli walked through the neighbourhood alley, making his way to Quint’s house. Right outside Quint’s door was a boy, rubbing some cat. As Eli approached, the cat heard him and hissed, then ran the opposite direction. The boy became startled and looked towards him. “O-oh, good afternoon mister wright.” the boy told him loudly.

 

Eli exhaled and continued his approach. At a quarter of a meter distance from the boy, he halted. “Are your … parents home?”

 

“Yes, right inside, mister wright. Just knock on their door. I’ll go find that cat again now!” the boy said and scurried off, turning around a corner.

 

He took the few remaining steps and reached the door, knocking on it thrice with his staff. A few moments later a voice echoed from inside. “Throne! It better be important at this hour! Who’d that be?”

 

“Eli, your … neighbor … would you open … Isha?” he replied.

 

The door opened and a woman dressed in a beige skirt and a ragged dark blue overcoat, her black hair braided behind her neck, flashed her lantern outside and peeked at her visitor. “Oh, Eli! I wasn’t expecting a visitor, much less you. Forgive my rudeness, it’s just that money-grabbers and ruffians of the sort are common at this hour.” She stepped aside. “Come on in.”

 

Eli passed through the doorway and made his way to a stool by the table. He placed his bag and case to the floor and sat on the stool. Isha peeked around the outside and shouted “Dariel! Where have you ran off to?! It’s almost dark!” She waited for a moment and sighed. “That kid…” She left the door open sat by Eli, placing a shiv she had been concealing in her palm onto the table.

 

“Well, I’m glad you’ve made yourself comfortable.” Isha said and flashed a smile. “Can I offer you some water, or bread maybe?”

 

“Will not be … necessary.” he replied, looking around the kitchen-hall.

 

The boy came running through the door. “You shout for me ma’?”

 

“Dariel! Can’t you laze away on the bright hours?!” Isha scolded.

 

The boy scratched his head “I was just two corners away, you know?”.

 

Isha sighed again and rose to her feet. “Close the door, will you?” she told him. “Well, I’ll go wake Quint. You probably have things to talk about.” Isha waited for a moment, as Eli looked at her. He exhaled and nodded, prompting Isha to leave the room.

 

She entered the bedroom and knelt by Quint’s side, shaking him. “Quint! Wake up!”

 

“By the Throne, woman!” he mumbled, his eyes still closed. “Don’t tell me it’s morning already!”

 

“It’s the tech-wright from next door, the one you used to call “the Rat”! He’s in the kitchen!” she whispered to him.

 

Quint opened a single eye and peeked at her face. “Don’t you let him hear you calling him that.” He placed a palm on his forehead and forced his other eye open. “Tell him I’ll get dressed and be right over.”

 

“Okay, darling. Hurry up, please. He’s unnervingly silent.” Isha said as she rose to her feet and left the room.

 

*** *** ***

 

Five minutes later, Quint was almost fully dressed by now. “Who knew the day would come, that “the Rat” would be referred to as “unnervingly silent”. The irony. Guess the Lathes change a man. A lot.” he thought to himself, pulling his last sock over his foot. Promptly, he wore some shoes and walked through the corridor. At the doorway of the kitchen hall, he looked towards the man in robes and spoke. “Eli, well wasn’t expecting you to visit, friend! Well, you should have told me, I’d not have you wait this long.” He approached Eli, extending his right hand, with an open palm, towards him.

 

Eli looked at him for a second, then stood up, removed his gloves and reciprocated the handshake. “No need … to worry ... I accounted for … the possibility of … necessary inactivity.”

 

Quint felt something bumpy shifting beneath Eli’s skin, along with something cold at the center of his palm. He tried to avoid looking down and spoke. “Oh, straight with your right!” he remarked. “I remember you’d always extend your left first because-”

 

“A misconduct … of mine … is no more.” Eli interjected. He sat back down.

 

“I see.” Quint said, a bit lost for words. He thought it was the first time he saw Eli remove his gloves since he returned from the Lathes. Eli’s hands appeared terribly scarred to him, especially so the left one, stitches and singeing marks over sprayflesh, over already stapled skin, not a trace of hair or nail remaining on what skin was visible. Beneath the skin, tubes run along the extent of his palms, coalescing on a metallic ring that surrounded a hole on the center of each palm. “Well, Isha told me you asked her about a pest controller? Did he come over?”

 

“Indeed … to his instruction … I am avoiding … my residence … for two hours. So … I came to thank … you” Eli answered, pointing one palm to Isha and the other to Quint. “for… running this … small request … in my stead.”

 

As Eli spoke, Quint was trying to imagine the head of Eli he remembered more than a decade ago - brown eyes, unwrinkled skin and curled black hair - somehow superimpose over the black-and-red hood, the respirator and the tubes beneath his shriveled skin that coalesced into Eli’s discolored eyes.

 

“Are you … alright?” the buzzing voice addressed Quint.

 

“Yes, of course. I was drifting into past memories. Excuse me.” Quint replied. He took his seat by the table. “Well, it’s all good; we hardly had time to catch up last time.”

 

“Actually … I was wondering … if I you had … any machine … whose spirit … was behaving unproductively.” Eli said, looking around the room one more time. “Will allow me … to reciprocate … the favor.”

 

Isha crossed her fingers. “Oh! You’re a visitor; as your hostess I can’t let you take the effort to-”

 

“An unnecessary … concern. It is … my purpose … to be of … utility” Eli replied.

 

Quint rubbed his chin for a second. “Well, remember that cabinet my father used to have? The metallic one that was all cold inside and preserved food?”

 

“Indeed.” Eli scanned the kitchen-hall and saw the cabinet, a green light blinking on its top plate. “How has it … become dysfunctional?”

 

“Lately it’s just been, um, dying you could say? Stop producing the cold, for hours or even days at times. Then comes back to action for a while. Then dies again. This whole thing has been going on for a year or so.” Quint narrated.

 

“Let me … examine it; may … the Omnissiah … hear us out.” Eli said and walked toward the cabinet.

 

As Eli faced away from the couple, Isha faced Quint and made a wide-eyed grimace, slightly turning her head sideways. Quint shook his head and gritted his teeth a bit. “Eli, you don’t have to do it now __now__ , right?”

 

“If there isn’t … something of … significance or … import, then I … would rather do … this first.” Eli replied as he observed the cabinet from each side.

 

“I thought you’d have questions about your father and all, since…” Quint paused for a second “…well, you know.”

 

Eli had extended his hand, about to touch the machine, but came to sudden halt. “Indeed … Let’s discuss … about him … afterwards” he said and pulled the cabinet a very short distance away from the wall. Isha eyed Quint again, who dismissed her with a motion of his hand. Eli then touched the backside of the cabinet, closed his eyes and started to murmur. The cabinet started to rumble, softly at first, but eventually the noises echoed like thuds against the floor beneath it.

 

Quint felt shock and worry. He started lifting himself, almost about to grab his wife. The thuds didn’t last much longer. Quint sat relieved back to his chair. Eli opened his eyes. He pulled the cabinet further away from the wall, rotating its back towards his bag. “There may be sparks … or jets of steam … You would be … safer in the … other room” Eli explained and promptly started removing tools and parts from his bag, placing them neatly on the floor. “Will not take … longer than … a quarter of … an hour.”

 

Quint blinked a few times. He faced his wife and son and nodded at them towards the corridor. “We’ll be in the bedroom then”.

 

“I’ll shout … when it is … done.” Eli replied, still arranging his implements.

 

Quint was the last member of his family to leave the room. He entered the bedroom, saw the look on his wife and told her “Just don’t say it, okay? Please, for Throne’s sake...”. He then sat on the bed and waited.

 

*** *** ***

 

Quint could still hear all the various sounds coming from the kitchen-hall. Rumbling, thuds, swooshes, cackles and Eli himself, chanting in some bizarre tongue. Sitting on the bed, the inactivity had almost made him drift back to sleep; probably would have, if his wife didn’t shake him every time his eyelids started to approach one another.

 

Quint thought how Eli’s speaking rhythm was much faster when he chanted. His breathing almost sounded normal to him, excluding the deep exhalations whenever he appeared to come to a stop, before he began chanting the next line.

 

Suddenly, the noises came to stop. Only Eli’s voice continued to echo through the corridor. Quint rose to his feet and turned his ear towards the doorway. Eli’s chanting came to a stop itself within seconds and within the next minute, Eli shouted “You may …. return.”

 

Quint nodded for his family to get going and followed them back inside. By the time he entered the kitchen-hall, the cabinet was placed back in its place and Eli was placing his implements back into his backpack.

 

“The spirit is … calm now … The Omnissiah … heard our … pleas.” Eli said, as the family returned.

 

“Thanks… a lot, Eli.” Quint told him, as he sat down.

 

“Satisfied to be … of use.” Eli replied and joined them at the table again. “Now … what did you … have to say … about my … father?”

 

Quint gulped. He was beginning to regret mentioning Eli’s old man. “Well, you see, when you got taken to the Lathes, ol’ Mord was grumpy and sad, to the point he’d make promises about boarding a vessel to come find out what happened to you. The neighbors brought him to his senses. He seemed out of touch for a short while.” Eli’s ocular light blinked every now and then. Quint became unnerved and carefully considered what to say. “Well then some guy in a suit came and told him you were gonna stay to be trained as an Adept of the Mechanicus. You should’ve been there to see him leap in joy. Really, he said goodbye to the official, then started knocking every door, hugging every neighbor, shouting: “Me boy’s not gonna be a servitor! Me boy’s got a future!”. Not everyone believed him. I did, of course, and was much relieved to hear you were fine.”

 

The blinking light in Eli’s eye stabilized. “What of … his later … years. Did he … become sick?”

 

Quint gulped again, thinking how to phrase the next part of his narration. “Well, these last five years weren’t… exactly kind to him. He started talking about you having been sent to, um, that planet close to the throne. He shared other strange stories too. At the time, most people thought he had began to turn just a tad bit unhinged, due to living all alone. By the next year, we could hear him speaking alone sometimes. He even shouted at night sometime. Most of us in the neighborhood knew he must have felt very sad and all, thus thought we’d just scold him a bit. Some threatened to call the arbitrators; not us, of course!”

 

“Did he … comply and … cease?” Eli asked.

 

“Well, the night shouting did get __much__  less frequent after that. But a couple of years later, I heard kids had began to visit him; apparently he had become something of a charitable man, offering a bit of sweet food to them. Fed some cats around the neighborhood too, if I remember correctly. It was quite a bit later, when I found out my own son began to visit him” Quint paused and looked at Dariel, scoffing his eyebrows “that I noticed the kids where mostly boys. I asked Dariel about what was going on, and” Quint paused again, raising his open palms towards Eli “he said that ol’ Mord was calling them, well, by his son’s name.”

 

Eli’s heavy breathing stopped. His blinking light faded out. He stayed perfectly still for a few seconds. Isha grabbed Quint’s arm, who rose to his feet. “Hey, hey, hey Eli! You okay?!” he shouted and extended his hand to shake him. Before he had touched him, he heard an exhalation and the red-tinted light flashed back into existence.

 

“No cause for … concern. I am … still fully … functional.” he said and raised his open palm between himself and Quint.

 

“Oh, good, good… Excuse me, I wasn’t sure what happened.” Quint apologized, shaking his wife’s hand off his wrist. “If you want we could talk about this some other-”

 

Ean’s light blinked again. “Unnecessary … carry on.”

 

Quint’s muscles tensed a bit. “Well, to be honest, I was afraid it was true. So, I visited him and confronted him about it. But he outright denied it, appearing rational, mostly at least. So, I gave my son a good slap for his lie-”

 

“It wasn’t a lie!” Dariel interjected.

 

“SHUT UP FOR THRONE’S SAKE!” Quint shouted, slamming his hand on the table with as much force as he could. Quint realized everyone’s eyes were on him. He recomposed himself. “Don’t speak out of turn, boy! It’s improper! Understood?”

 

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” the boy replied, staring right into his father’s eyes.

 

Eli’s face wavered between the boy and Quint, until the tech-wright’s eyes were set back onto Quint. Quint took the opportunity to roll back into the story. “Well, that’s __that part__. At least, to the best of my knowledge. Then, about a year ago, ol’ Mord had completely stopped his nighttime shouting and chased the kids away. I’m not sure what actually happened, but he announced to me that he had amassed enough money to stop working. “Live it out in luxury from now on!” he proclaimed. Well, he made enough for two people back in the day when you were a kid, then he had what money you left back and he still had the same job after all; all these stuff, you know, I believed him. Barely so, but I considered it possible. Neither I nor anybody else saw much of ol’ Mord after the announcement. Then, about a month later, my wife noticed this stench as she walked out the door. She said she looked around, seeing no special waster or anything of the sort, but did see ol’ Mord’s door hanging open. To her surprise, the smell was coming from in there. She knew the man much less than I did, so she asked me to investigate. I was about to leave for work as well, plus the smell made me want to hurry up, so I knocked just once and barged in. The… source of the stench became apparent then, as I saw ol’ Mord’s body on his bed. He was not moving, or breathing, at all.”

 

Quint saw Eli’s light blink again. He paused for a moment.

 

“Why was … the door … open?” Eli said, breathing even heavier than usual.

 

“We didn’t know at the time. My wife works near an Arbites station. Told her to report the incident. By the time I got back, ol’ Mord’s body was gone. The neighbors told me there were a couple of coppers and a cipher, who examined the scene and asked a few questions around. Eventually they told the folks that the man’s body had no apparent wounds, meaning ol’ Mord probably died in his sleep. Some amateur ruffian must have picked the lock a couple of days later and forgot the door open as he left; at least that’s what the folk were told was the most likely course of events.” Quint paused. “Some folks asked them to burn his residence, fearing how long the body was… I was amazed at this outrage! The cipher refused them anyway, saying there was still a legal inheritor to decide that.”

 

“What of … his body?” Eli asked.

 

“Well, the cipher said that since there wasn’t a soul to take care of a funeral, along with how much his body had already… deteriorated, his remains would be incinerated.” Quint brought his palms together. “May Throne rest him.”

 

Eli wore his glove once again. “I understand. Truly a … regrettable outcome … for his … late years. Such … purposeless … existence.”

 

“The man appeared to believe you were doing well. I think that kept him going, for a while at least.”

 

“Going? … He was … broken. Like a … rusted gear … that fell … off its place.”

 

Quint didn’t spare another word on the subject. He tried to engage in many different subjects, including their teenage years, but none kept Eli interested, from what he could make of the tech-wright at least. The hour did slip them by though. Quint trusted his sense of time and surely enough, he saw Eli rise to his feet and collect his stuff.

 

“Oh, has another hour passed already? I hardly noticed.” he remarked.

 

“Indeed … it has. I will … now return … to meet … the pest controller.” Eli explained and headed for the door.

 

“Let me get the door for you!” Isha said and rushed to her feet, but Eli extended his palm towards her, stopping her. He opened the door, walked into the darkness outside, then closed the door. Isha fell back on her chair and sighed. “Didn’t I tell you so - __unnerving__.”

 

Quint gritted his teeth again. “Tell me about it… I remember the guy back when we were teens, hopping around with a wrench in his left hand, talking about the next skirt he got his sights on….”

 

“Well, I’ll never wonder if they teach good disciple in the Lathes from now on. How did he end up there anyway?”

 

“Eli-” Quint halted his mouth, glimpsing at Dariel. He slapped a fist across Dariel’s face. “Almost forgot about you. Scurry off to your room.” Dariel, holding his face, disappeared from the room. “Last time I saw him, he and I, along with a couple of other guys our age were away from home. Worked on an industry then. We’d grab food from the shops down the avenue, then stroll all the way till the square. Watch the fancies, breathe in some actually good air and have dares about who’d hit the fanciest skirt, or at least try to. Eli was a sucker for these dares. He’d __never__  refuse one. Anyway, so there’s this couple of white-haired women in the square, all clad in armor with a thing like a power box on their backs. Armed too, let me tell you. There’s this small steam vapor busting out one’s power box and she seemed distressed and angered about it.”

 

“Wait, was she one of these rare church guards? What were they called?” Isha rubbed her forehead.

 

“I don’t remember either. I think so. Anyway, so there’s this guy in our company, Jericus. He saw how Eli watch her and dared him. I bust out as much of a laugh as I could before it would annoy any fancy. I mean, we all knew you __just don’t__  hit a fancy skirt like that. Jericus was only joking, I thought it obvious enough. Next thing you know though, Eli started walking towards her, wrench in hand, tool case hanging on his shoulder and all. I laughed even harder, almost worried a copper might come beat me for making too much noise. I expected Eli to make a sudden turn anytime now. My jaw dropped when he didn’t. By the Throne, the idiot was actually talking to her!”

 

Isha gasped. “She didn’t shoot him on the spot?”

 

“No. I saw her getting infuriated, but maybe she decreed he wasn’t worth the ammo. Anyway, she’s suddenly punching him. Eli dropped to the ground, where she kicked him once or twice. The other one just watched. Then this Mechanicus guy that was a bit further away approached them, two of his underlings following him. And let me tell you, his robes were a bright red color, so you know he was a bit higher on the order. He mumbled something to the women and they had a short discussion. I really thought they were conversing over who had the highest right to kill him. Then, the red-robe fancy said something to Eli, who nodded in agreement. The women seemed more than a bit angry, but after the red-robe spared some more words, they appeared to calm down. Next thing you know, the woman turned her back to Eli, who rose to his feet, wiped the blood off his mouth and started working on the power box.”

 

Isha’s mouth dropped open. “He fixed it?”

 

“You don’t __fix__  such a thing, at least not with streetwise craft outside a proper workshop. But he did __patch__  it, pretty good given the circumstances. The steam vapor seemed well gone, at least from where I was sitting, and being the young fool that I was, though that Eli might have spared his skin. Especially so when the red-robe started shouting through his respirator, stuff like “Efficient! Excellent!”. Little did I know. Next thing he says something to his underlings who grabbed Eli and stretched him on the ground. Then the red-robe started shouting again, his buzzing having a totally different tone to it. “But you used your left hand!” he shouted and stroke Eli’s left hand with his staff thing. With enough force that it stayed bent at an angle.” Quint had churned his lips. “Eli started to scream, mostly facing the women, who looked at him with satisfied grins. “Why would you do that?!” the red-robe screamed and stroke Eli lower down on his arm now. At this point, the lad had gone out cold. Thankfully, if you ask me, because the red robe kept shouting and striking. By the end of it, Eli’s whole left arm was so warped, I didn’t think he would make it.” Quint held his stomach.

 

“But, he did?” Isha asked, grabbing her husband’s fist. “The red-robe said some last thing. The women nodded and he departed towards the industrial area. His underlings pulled Eli with them as they followed. That was the last I’d see him for more than a decade. I really thought he was done for. The three of us returned to the neighborhood and told ol’ Mord what had transpired. Not about the dare of course, just the rest of it. The man thought we were fooling him at first, then he began shouting, then crying, then screaming and kicking and banging his head on the wall. All three of us had to keep him down, till he calmed down. Ol’ Mord was convinced his boy was dead, or worse. As did I; to tell you the whole truth when that official in the suit visited the man I though they had come to erase every trace of Eli’s existence or something. I didn’t believe him when he said Eli was sent to the Lathes. Who would, right?”

 

*** *** ***

 

Hastus the “Jackal” kicked the prone girl again. She cried and screamed in pain, worse than the first time. “You’d better hand it over! Else I draw some more jagged blade!” he threatened. The young woman threw out a few gelt out of each visible pocket and started to crawl away. “That had better be all!” he hissed at her. The woman nodded and continued to crawl away.

 

Hastus was about to undo the scarf and hood covering his face; after all, he had hoped to have more fun with her, but she screamed at the mere sight of him. He knew he might be in for some bad company if he lingered around for too long. He concealed his knife, gathered the gelt into his waist bag and hurried down the other side of the alley. He was just about to exit the alley, when someone emerged from the side and the two bumped onto each other.

 

“Damn it!” he thought. Hastus glimpsed at the man from tip to toe, examining him fast as he could. “The black-red robes, the respirator, the staff…” he counted in his thoughts “…damn! A tech fancy!” Hastus would rather not gouge the skin of a fancy. It just tends to make for more trouble. But the man was standing on the exit, leaning on his staff and not moving. Hastus was a bit hesitant, but he knew you don’t graduate from being the “Jackal” unless rumors spread about you shoving some of the heat around. Besides, they were about the same height and he knew underlings from higher-ups.

 

Not sparing another thought, Hastus jumped on the man, punching his respirator-covered face. His knuckles hurt a bit, but he was confident it was a solid blow. The techie stood his ground, releasing a hand’s grip from his staff and extended it to grab Hastus. Quickly, Hastus closed the distance and threw his knee with full force between the techie’s leg. The robe obscured the point a bit, but Hastus was confident. The impact on his knee felt very different than what he had anticipated. Unfazed, the techie grabbed Hastus from the neck, his left hand made a clicking sound as the fingers started pressing down on his windpipe.

 

Hastus realized he was careless to assume the techie could be considered human. He struggled to free himself, but the techie pushed him on wall, trying to keep him pinned with his staff till the last breath was choked out of him or his neck snapped, whichever came first. He pulled his knife and struggled, but managed to stab the techie’s left hand, which caused a spasm that allowed Hastus to release himself from the grip. Red, green and yellow liquids splashed on Hastus’ face. But before Hastus could draw out the blade, the techie’s staff slammed onto Hastus’ ribcage and shoved him out of the alley.

 

Hastus managed to keep himself together. He felt a rib had been splintered and the impact made him lose the knife, but he had escaped the alley. He made a run for it. The techie tried to trip him with his staff, but Hastus knew he was fast on his feet. He heard the metal staff cling against the concrete. “Dropped it? Is he trying to release weight and run faster?” he thought. “No, no way he’ll get me till he gets those bags off his back.” Hastus was confident he could lose the techie in the turn down ahead.

 

Suddenly, Hastus heard a swooshing sound and in less than a second felt a searing sensation on his back. In a flash, his lung felt like it was on fire and his breath boiling within. Tears welled up in his eyes as Hastus fell to his knees trying to struggle against the pain, till he collapsed.

 

*** *** ***

 

Judicca had lost her assailant from sight. She saw the tech-wright swing his staff one last time, against the assailant who had landed past the corner. The tears made it blurry and hard to see, so she tried to wipe her eyes. By that time she heard the clinging of the metal staff against the concrete and saw the tech-wright pull a pistol from inside his robe and take aim. A red ray of light emerged from the pistol and flew past her narrow field of vision. The tech-wright put the pistol back into his robes and walked towards where he had shot.

 

Judicca rose to her feet and hurried behind him. She reached the exit of the alley, where the tech-wright had dropped his staff and saw him grabbing the leg of her assailant, from whose back, a ribbon of smoke was flying. The tech-wright started dragging the man towards her. Instinctively, she fell back on her knees, not sure herself whether it was because of fear, relief or both. The tech-wright reached her, collected his staff with the arm where the knife was still in.

 

“Y-y-your arm…” she managed to squeeze out of her mouth, as she was trying to calm her breathing.

 

The tech-wright faced her for a moment. “Repairable … do not … concern yourself … any further … it was … my mistake … a kind warning … not to repeat … by the Omnissiah.”

 

“A mistake…?” Judicca asked in amazement.

 

“For using … the left hand … first.” Judicca nodded confused and the tech-wright started to drag the assailant away.

 

“A-a-also…” she managed to say, but when the tech-wright faced her, she could not bring her voice under control. Confused, she gazed sharply at the waist bag of the man. She saw the tech-wright shift his sights between her face and the man’s waist. He promptly unfastened the waist bag, which dropped on the ground, and went on, dragging the man elsewhere.

 

Judicca collected the waist bag. She stayed knelt for around a minute, trying to catch her breath. After that had mostly happened, she hurried off to home.

 

*** *** ***

 

Jackson had long finished applying the insecticidal substances and a small swarm of roach-like things had rushed out of the toiler and sink, only to make it panicked to the poisonous cloud in the residence. When their squirming and writhing was mostly done, Jackson vacuumed them into a bag. He opened the door, to let most of the insecticidal gas out. After a few minutes he decided it was safe to remove his gas mask and light a cigarette. “How many cigarettes do I fit in an hour?” he pondered.

 

An hour and a few minutes later, Jackson wondered where the tech-wright was. He was sure tech-wrights were hounds over punctuality - at least, when their skin mattered more than whoever they were dealing with - and did not expect him to be late. It was getting dark and Jackson had even heard a scream a few alleys away. Of course, he wasn’t gonna make it his business this late at night. He wondered whether the scream could have been the tech-wright’s, but decided that the voice was definitely too feminine and vigorous to be his.

 

Jackson grew impatient as another couple of minutes flew by and rose to his feet, ready to light another cigarette, before he finally saw the tech-wright emerge from a corner. “Ah! Mister Eli! There you-”

 

Jackson froze as he saw the tech-wright drag a body by the foot, while his own arm was still stabbed with a knife. He felt a shiver run down his spine. “THRONE! What happened?!” he shouted.

 

“He attacked me … I defended. Do not … concern yourself … with it. It … is done.” the tech-wright answered. Jackson was amazed at how calm the man’s voice sounded, given his condition. Jackson thought it bizarre but didn’t comment. He just stood there, still, not sure what to ask next.

 

“What about … the service? Was it … a success?” the tech-wright asked.

 

“Yeah, the pests you described are safely ceased and vacuumed into the bag. Will soon drop them to the nearest available incinerator.” Jackson replied, pointing to an airtight bag hanging by his waist.

 

“Excellent … what of … the price? Will … the twelve gelt … suffice?”

 

“Yes, I was about to say so.” Jackson felt he could have pushed for that extra gelt, but the body and the knife just made him feel unsafe. Eli let his staff stand against his shoulder and went through a pocket inside his robes. He produced the gelt and handed them to Jackson. He tried to determine their exact number as they fell into his palms, but he didn’t otherwise dare count them till he was far from Eli.

 

“Till next … we meet … Jackson. If … we ever … do again.” Eli said with a nod and started dragging the man away.

 

Jackson became shocked when he saw Eli do anything but enter the residence. “Where are you dragging him off to?”

 

“The closest … Arbites station. They … will know … what to do … with him … his body.”

 

“You’re gonna walk over there at this hour?! Just let the body outside your door - let the dogs have their fill of him - and you tell the Arbites to come collect him in the morning…”

 

“Negative … it will be … problematic, if … he starts to … stink overnight … or attract pests.” Eli’s light blinked a few times.

 

“Yeah, I didn’t consider that… You are right… Well, goodbye then mister Eli.”

 

Eli carried on his way away from his residence. When he was out of sight, Jackson saw his silhouette light a candle. Jackson collected himself, lit his lantern and hurried off his own way.

 

*** *** ***

 

Two days later, Isha was hanging around the secretariat of the Arbites station, as she usually did during the few minutes she could spare before rushing to her job.

 

“So, he’ll be working around this area too?” the secretary asked her.

 

“That’s what he told me this morning. Said his adaptation week was over and his appointed station was near where I worked, so he boarded the same wagon I did. We split up a bit earlier.”

 

“So, is he the same guy that Garvel said came the night before yesterday?” the secretary asked.

 

“Oh Phebia, by the Throne! You won’t believe it!” Isha moved her hands around frantically. “So, I asked around the neighborhood folks and, apparently, there was this girl Judy or Judacca, who was the assailant’s victim I think and confirmed the story!”

 

‘Phebia’ widened her eyes. “Oh, that’s indeed amazing. Your neighborhood must feel a bit safer.”

 

“Indeed!” Isha replied. “Although his dedication to practicality and efficiency leaves me a tad unnerved, to be honest. I haven’t really been this close to any Adept of the Mechanicus, but I swear, at times, he almost seems more like a tool than he seems a man.”

 

“Don’t let it worry you too much. It’s probably how the tech-adepts just are.” ‘Phebia’ instructed her.

 

“You’re probably right” Isha sighed. “You always are” she smiled. “Anyway, I’m off to work honey. See you tomorrow.” Isha said and hopped off the counter. The two women exchanged some final pleasantries and waved each other goodbye.

 

When a minute had passed since Isha was out of sight, ‘Phebia’ looked around making sure nobody was around. Once she was certain she was alone, she pulled a diminutive black vox from beneath her desk and dialed. Exactly at the third ping, her real superior answered the call, as usual.

 

“Password: Phebia VCCCLX” she whispered immediately. “Yes, of course sir. I have located a likely candidate.”

 

‘Phebia’ heard carefully the whispers from the other side.

 

“As you say, for the most part. Only possible complication is that he belongs to the Adeptus Mechanicus, sir.”

 

Her superior was slightly displeased.

 

“Permission to approach, sir?” … “Of course, sir. As you direct. Cover still intact. No compromises.” Her call ended as the other side broke off the connection.

 

“Well, “ _ _Observe first__ ” it is then.” she thought to herself.

 

*** *** ***

 

Engineseer Thelos’ vox had rang. It was the woman who instructed him to call her Phebia, telling him to meet her behind the bay of his station. Thelos detested to be interrupted from his work, especially today when he had to appoint all the new arrivals to different stations, but he would rather not have her kind show up in his cell late at night, again. Thelos rushed to the meeting point, but could not see ‘Phebia’ anywhere. He kept turning his head around, breathing fast and impatiently, until she emerged out of the corner.

 

“What is it?” Thelos said and exhaled. “I have -bzzzt- little time and a vox-voicer that -bzzzt- needs my attention.”

 

“Not to worry, respected mister Thelos.” she said, smiling and bowing ever so slightly. “I wanted to ask you about one of your new arrivals. Maybe you could also pass me a report card and some office paperwork?” she raised an eyebrow.

 

Thelos hated her pretentious etiquette. “So inefficient!” he thought, but he would rather get her off his back than argue. He exhaled deeply. “I’ll need a number -bzzzt- or a name.”

 

“How many of your recent arrivals share the name of Eli?” she asked him.

 

“Just one.” Thelos inhaled deeply. “Incidentally -bzzzt- the same one that Magos -bzzzt- Trantor asked me to hold down twelve years and -bzzzt- nine months ago, as the Magos shattered his arm.”

 

The woman’s smile widened to the point Thelos felt sickened by it. “That’s definitely the one” she told him, maintaining her grin.


End file.
